


Overture

by shiphitsthefan



Series: Pas de Trois [4]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: #HannibalHallow, Alternate Universe - College/University, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Drinking, F/M, Greek Life, Hannibal Is A Pretentious Snob and Literally No One Should Be Surprised, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-18 22:39:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12397695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiphitsthefan/pseuds/shiphitsthefan
Summary: She tips her head back to stare at the sky, vast but starless in the city lights. “I don’t know. When we’re at home, Hannibal’s soft; when we’re out in public, in a crowd? It’s like there’s this--this mask. He’s almost a different person.”“Then it sounds like you picked his costume perfectly.  Unfortunately, Hannibal’s too focused on you choosing to make him play the ‘ugly’ one,” Bella says, pulling out her lighter.Bedelia nods; she hates how right Bella is, how perceptive her best friend and big sister can be. “I readPhantom of the Operafor French, and in French,” she says, gripping the railing. “I was so mad that Christine chose Raoul, even though Erik was a murderous asshole, even though she didn’t feel safe around him. There was still a twisted sort of romance.”“Your fave is problematic,” Bella replies."Exactly."***A stand-alone Bedannibal fic for my Bedannigram danceverse, as well as a prompt fill for both #HannibalHallow (couples costumes; house party) and electric-couple (autumn).





	Overture

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be chapter nine for _[Third Position](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12266355)_ but, just like with "[Beginning Choreography](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12363396)", it worked very well as its own short fic. I relied heavily on my own experience in a women's fraternity (yes, I know; it's fucking hilarious in retrospect) and entirely too many parties in college.
> 
> Check out the [#HannibalHallow](http://idontfindyouthatinteresting.co.uk/post/165691281915/hannibal-halloween-6-weeks-of-creation-so) six-week prompt calendar, as well as [the current Bedannibal prompt](https://electric-couple.tumblr.com/post/166219870889/new-prompt-autumn)!

This is terrible.

No, _Bedelia_ is terrible.

No, no, no. Halloween and costumes and inane frat parties? Those are _truly_ terrible.

It isn’t that Hannibal dislikes fraternity socials; mixers are enjoyable, especially when he’s on the organization committee. Everyone dresses in pinwear, Hannibal’s brothers in collared shirts and ties, the ladies in pretty blouses and skirts or trousers. He always takes the opportunity to pull out his waistcoats and pocket watch for the occasion. It’s important to model perfect dress for the pledges, and absolutely isn’t because he wants to be the center of attention, as Mrs. Komeda, the director of Greek life, believes.

He and Bedelia are certainly the focus tonight, much to Hannibal’s chagrin.

“You could scowl a little less,” says Bedelia, trying to hand him a cup of punch. Hannibal takes one look at it, quickly deciding that it’s more cheap liquor than high fructose corn syrup. “You’re going to scare the pledges.”

“I thought the point of Halloween was to be frightening.”

Bedelia levels her very best glare at him. “Why are you like this?”

“Because you’ve strong-armed me into attending a drunken soiree full of loud pop music and keg stands.” Hannibal scowls harder.

“I have no idea why I put up with you,” and she starts drinking the punch she brought for Hannibal. Bedelia has her own red plastic cup in the other hand, two-fisting the terrible alcohol. Her tolerance has always been extraordinary. “And here I brought you a liquid sedative to get the stick out of your ass so you might have fun.”

“Crude,” Hannibal says, narrowing his eyes, though he guesses the left one is somewhat obscured by the mask.

Bedelia smiles. “You know you love me.”

And Hannibal does. _God,_ but he does. She’s the only highlight of his evening, resplendent in her pure white dress, shoulders bared, waist narrowed by a corset Hannibal laced up for her earlier. He wishes Bedelia had put on the petticoats underneath, but she’d have been completely incapable of navigating the crowd here in Jack’s condo.

They would’ve had to leave early. How awful.

She finishes off her own drink, crushes up the cup, turns at the waist and tosses it over the crowd. It misses the garbage can completely.

“I just want to have a good time with you tonight,” says Bedelia, using the sweet, plaintive, manipulative voice that makes Hannibal feel weak in the knees. “We put so much work into our costumes--Hanni, I only wanted to show you off." She reaches up, puts her free hand on the back of his neck. “My angel of music.”

“There’s no reason why I couldn’t have been Raoul.”

Bedelia rolls her eyes and sips on Hannibal’s drink again. “Are you seriously still pouting about that?”

“I’d hardly call it pouting,” Hannibal insists. “I’m simply insulted at the character you chose for me.”

“No one would’ve recognized us if you’d come as Raoul!”

“We would have known; if someone asked, we could simply have told them.”

“That’s not the _point,”_ she scoffs. “We’re a couple. People shouldn’t have to ask how our costumes are related.”

Hannibal looks away--Bedelia’s too electric when she’s annoyed. “They might have assumed we were dressed in 1890s attire. As we are, I might point out.”

She doesn’t reply; the bass is jarring in his ears without her voice to temper it. Eventually, Bedelia says, “I’m going outside to steal someone’s cigarette,” and just like that, she’s walking off, weaving her way through the grinding masses, leaving Hannibal lost at sea.

 

* * *

 

“Why are men so fucking impossible?” asks Bedelia before blowing mentholated smoke into the chilled autumn air.

Bella plucks the cigarette from Bedelia’s fingers to take a drag of her own. “I’d say, ‘Not all men,’ but that leaves a bad taste in my mouth.” She puffs on the cigarette. “They all have their moments,” she continues. “Yours especially. Hannibal’s very...God, what’s a good word?”

“Particular? Persnickety? Penile and in denial?”

“Beddie, oh my _God.”_ Bella begins laughing so hard that she almost ashes on her leather vest. “I mean, you’re right; Hannibal is definitely a dick, but I’m fairly certain that comes along with being a Beta Sigma, because Jack has his moments, too. Daily.”

Turning to lean on the railing, Bedelia takes back the half-smoked cigarette. They’re going to have to bum another from someone else soon--the curse of only smoking when drinking. “‘I’m going into behavioral science because then I can _save lives,’”_ she says in her best impersonation of Jack. It isn’t very good, but Bella covers her mouth and giggles, anyway.

Once she’s pulled herself together, Bella takes her own turn. “‘I’m an aristocrat and a triple legacy of the fraternity, and I’m too elitist and snobby to mingle with my lesser brethren.’”

“Yup,” says Bedelia. “That’s Hannibal.” She tips her head back to stare at the sky, vast but starless in the city lights. “He’s pissed off because I made him come as the Phantom instead of Raoul.”

“Who is he,” asks Bella, “Michael Crawford?”

“Maybe.” Bedelia sighs. “I don’t know. When we’re at home, Hannibal’s soft; when we’re out in public, in a crowd? It’s like there’s this--this mask. He’s almost a different person.”

“Then it sounds like you picked his costume perfectly.” She starts poking Freddie--standing on Bella’s other side, probably eavesdropping as per always--and gets another cigarette. “Which both of your outfits are ridiculously good. Unfortunately, Hannibal’s too focused on you choosing to make him play the ‘ugly’ one,” Bella says, pulling her gun lighter from it's holster.

Bedelia nods; she hates how right Bella is, how perceptive her best friend and big sister can be. “I read _Phantom of the Opera_ for French, and _in_ French,” she says, gripping the railing. “I was so mad that Christine chose Raoul, even though Erik _was_ a murderous asshole, even though she didn’t feel safe around him. There was still a twisted sort of romance.”

“Your fave is problematic,” Bella replies.

“Exactly.”

“So go tell Hannibal he’s your problematic fave.” She finally manages to light the cigarette, then breaks out in a wide grin, looking toward the door to the porch as Jack drags Hannibal outside--literally drags him by his cravat. Hannibal looks so annoyed that Bella and Bedelia both start laughing all over again, buzzed on booze and nicotine.

Bedelia points at Hannibal with her right hand. “You’re my favorite problem!” she shouts, and now Bella’s snickering again, trying to pass Bedelia the cigarette before she drops it onto the deck.

Jack smacks himself in the forehead--God only knows why--and Hannibal tilts his head, appraising Bedelia, likely wondering what on _earth_ she’s talking about. He blinks, once, and then gives her the tiny micro-grin that she adores so much.

“She means you’re problematic,” explains Bella, throwing an arm around Bedelia’s shoulders; Bedelia hadn’t even realized she was shivering. “My little loves you, even though you’re an enormous, self-centered bastard who doesn’t understand overt romantic gestures.”

“Damn,” Jack says, slapping Hannibal’s back. “You just got called the fuck out.”

Bedelia think she should refute it, but it really is the goddamn truth. She just keeps grinning, toasts Hannibal with her cigarette, leans forward to look around Bella and flip off Freddie, and then gives the same finger to her lover.

 

* * *

 

This is a level of drunken sass Hannibal was entirely unprepared to deal with.

Hannibal’s certain that he’s sufficiently romantic, and he knows that he’s infatuated with himself; it would be futile to deny it. That doesn’t make him a problem--he’s sure of that, too. But Jack’s agreeing with the assessment and, while Jack may be a useful annoyance, Hannibal does respect him, and thus his opinion.

Even so, Hannibal asks, “Is this still about the costume?”

“I don’t know,” replies Bedelia, “is it?”

“Are you angry with me?”

She glances away momentarily. “Not really, I guess. It’s more of an all-encompassing bitterness.”

Hannibal thinks that may be worse.

“Come on, Wash,” Bella says to Jack, pushing herself off the railing, stealing the cigarette back from Bedelia. “Take me inside so we can enjoy your own party.” She winks at Bedelia, and Jack slaps Hannibal on the back again, then squeezes his shoulder, and they’re gone.

Bedelia looks cold in the relative silence between them, never mind the chill in the autumn air, the promise of frost. Whatever has caused the goosebumps on her arms, i’s unacceptable, so Hannibal steps forward to put his cape around her shoulders. It’s a practiced flourish, though he’d never admit to it, would blame it on his years of dance. Hannibal isn’t sure if she’d be receptive to his kiss, but he threads his fingers into her curly brown wig and brings their lips together, anyway. Bedelia sighs into it; there’s an unexpected weight in his chest that is lifted, even if she does taste of tobacco and artificially fruity Everclear

With difficulty, he breaks away from her, then brushes his lips against her ear. “‘Behold,’” Hannibal quotes, “‘a deity stronger than I; who coming, shall rule over me.’”

“Have I truly eaten your heart, Dante?”

“Entirely.” The vibrato in Hannibal’s voice is unintentional.

Bedelia kisses his cheek. “Dante is apparently an ass.”

“That would make me, instead, your Nick Bottom,” says Hannibal, “and you my Titania, and thus, still my queen.”

“Okay,” she concedes, “okay, fine. You’re not so bad at romance, I suppose.”

Freddie starts to hum “Bad Romance”. Hannibal is displeased.

“You’re very rude,” he tells her. Freddie’s a specifically amusing kind of rude, however. It’s almost endearing. “Have you nothing else to do?”

She shrugs; a button pops open on her yellow jumpsuit. “I’m a pledge,” Freddie says, immediately fixing her shirt, and Hannibal appreciates that, as well, her commitment to modesty. “My job is to observe, and you’re currently the most interesting people here.”

“Only because you didn’t bring a Raphael,” Bedelia says teasingly before lightly shoving her shoulder. “Then I guess we’ll have to leave so as to be less interesting.”

“I thought you wanted to enjoy the party,” says Hannibal, frowning.

“You’re hardly amenable.”

Hannibal takes a deep breath and resigns himself to his fate. “I could be,” he says, and offers Bedelia his arm. She looks at him, a cautious kind of smirk beginning to play on her lips, but takes his arm, anyway. “Would you care to dance?”

Her smirk grows into a small smile; she passes the cigarette to Freddie--“Thanks for letting me borrow a smoke.”

“Don't mention it,” Freddie tells her, staring at the half-smoked menthol between her fingers.

Hannibal escorts Bedelia inside, thinking about how lovely the cape looks on her, wondering if he could convince her to wear one with her pinwear in the winter. She’s light on her feet as they dance, still every bit a ballerina, even to the hideous music, cape and skirt swirling around her as they make up their own steps.

The party remains intensely terrible, Hannibal thinks. But Bedelia is bright and beautiful in what light there is, and not terrible in any manner, at all.

He still hates his costume.

**Author's Note:**

> [[crossposted to tumblr](https://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/post/166524080364/hannibalhallow-couples-costumes-house-party)]
> 
> ***
> 
> [[about me](http://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/about)] [[tumblr](http://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/)] [[twitter](https://twitter.com/shiphitsthefan)]
> 
> Kudos and [comments](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shiphitsthefan/profile) validate my existence. <3


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